


The Red Spider

by CescaLR



Series: 101 Ways To Fuck Up: A Guide By Ron Weasley [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spider-Man Fusion, F/M, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spider Man!Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-16 21:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: What are you supposed to do, when your brother sticks a spider in your bed - and said spider gives you superpowers? There's a lot of bad in the world. When you've got a way to deal with it, shouldn't you?These are the thoughts Ron has. He hopes he's making the right choices.





	1. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the beginning, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a title worked out yet, or a proper summary, but the general outline I *do* have, which is more than I can say for other fics of mine.
> 
> We'll see how this goes, shall we? 
> 
> Credit where credit is due; I was inspired to do this by a tumblr post, and also the great ViviTheFolle is aiding and abetting this pile of angst. Thank u my dude.

Ron's day had been - well, usual, but shitty. He'd been late up because his alarm clock had decided to finally give up on life in the middle of the night, so he'd been late for class, so he'd gotten a warning - and then he realised he hadn't packed his homework in his rush this morning, so he'd gotten _another _warning, and sent off to go get it. Okay, fine, but then - fucking Malfoy and his cronies were on their 'study break' (free period, who the fuck studies during study period anyway?) and Ron had gotten - well, got into a minor scuffle - it's not like he _broke _anything - and Ron ended up being suspended because Malfoy's daddy has _money, _and his doesn't, and Ron flipped the bird at Malfoy's smug, ferrety face as the car drove past him, hanging around the smoking area with that pug-faced bitch Pansy, on their way out of the car park. 

"Get a good hit in?" His dad asked. "And, well, you know you shouldn't start fights, Ron." 

"I know," Ron said. "_I _didn't. But you know what he's like."

"I know." his dad smiled at him, through the rear-view mirror. "So; did you get a good hit in?"

"Broke his nose," Ron said. So, fine, maybe he _had _broken something. Ron's just glad his mum wasn't the one who picked him up. He loves her, o'course, but there'd be nothing like her howling to give Malfoy's lot fodder for the foreseeable bloody future. Until they got bored or got better ammo to use.

"Well, since you're off for the week," Arthur said, "I'll take you into work, they'll be fine with it. Might teach you a few useful skills, you never know."

"Thanks, Dad," Ron said. 

"I'll have to ask my boss," Arthur reminds him, "So it's up in the air, but they should be fine with it..."

After his dad drops him off, back at home, and Ron's mum scolds him extensively for getting into a fight (again), Ron leaves his chores for later and grabs his bike, then bolts it, so he doesn't miss his window of opportunity; Harry's 'home', and it's not exactly often the Dursleys leave him chore-less and free to see his friends. 

* * *

Ron Weasley lives in surrey. It was a family home, his dad's dad's dad's dad's - you know, inherited property. Point is, so does his best mate, Harry Potter. Another street entirely, on the other side - but Ron's got a bike for that reason. Harry goes to some fancy fucking boarding school in Scottland - Ron's got the cheaper option, here in London. His mum's family doesn't do much, doesn't really talk to them - but they pay for Ron's education, and all his other brothers' and Ginny's too. Point is, Ron's known Harry for a long-arse time. Since primary, when fuckin' Dudley thought it'd be a fun idea to punch Harry in the face - the four of 'em, him and Harry and Dudley and Piers Polkiss, they ended up in the head's office after the fight got broken up, 'cause it turns out Harry's the kinda person to help people out when they get punched in the face (but not defend _himself, _work that one out), and Piers is a Crabbe and Goyle type, to Dudley's Malfoy. 

So yeah. They've been best friends ever since. 

Ron rolls up to the park, discards his old bike at the fence and vaults it. "You will not believe what happened today," Ron says, loudly. Harry sits up, swings his legs off the bench so that Ron can sit down. 

"Malfoy?" Harry asks. Ron grunts in agreement. "That's one hell of a bruise," Harry leans forward. "Crabbe or Goyle?"

"Goyle," Ron says, rubbing at his eye and wincing. "Broke Malfoy's nose though, so - worth it."

"Solid," Harry grins, leans back on the bench. "How long?"

"Suspended a week, this time," Ron says. "Won't expel me though. Mum went, Dad went, and the Prewetts are -"

"Board members," Harry finishes. "Ah, nepotism."

Ron snorts. "And you? You got _another _holiday or something?"

"Mhmm." Harry agrees, nodding. Ron knows something's up = he's known Harry can talk to snakes for half as long as Ron's known him; that trip to the zoo in year six was a real fuckin' revelation. So, Ron knows where Harry goes up in Scottland, that fancy-arse boarding school, it's probably one for mutants. Ron's heard rumours - after all, they _all _have - about that real famous guy, Dumbledore, having a school for people like him. People like Harry, and his - dead - parents and Ron's - dead - uncles. 

But still. The fact he stays back here, with the fuckers they call his 'family' every two weeks - it's a bit suspicious. No-one can travel that quickly that often, Scottland's on the opposite end of the damned country. And they all know, they do - everyone on this street, at least, know something's up. And while the Dursleys never treated Harry well - fuckin' abusive, when he was younger - ever since Harry started going there, to that school, they've... settled. Oh, they hate his guts still, but they feed and clothe him properly, and they don't give him unreasonable chores any more. It's better than it used to be. 

He still shouldn't have to face their shitty presence, though. Still, Harry'll be sixteen at the end of summer, which is - soon enough. Start of summer in a month, after all. At that point, he's got emancipation, you know, that he can get - and Ron's family'd never turn him away. He's got a place to stay. 

He always will do. 

* * *

A couple of hours later, Ron's sitting in his Dad's lab on the second floor of Riddle's HQ. Ron's Dad's work is... interesting. He's a mechanic, mostly, very good at it. An inventor, too, but that - that's a source of anger and sadness for the Weasleys. 

It's really fucking annoying when your Boss' Boss' Boss steals all your ideas after all. And gets paid millions for your damned work, while you get fuckin' nothing.

But then that's Riddle for you. A complete arsehole, as far as Ron's concerned. His wife's a nutcase and his daughter is - his daughter. Daddy's girl. And trying to talk to Riddle is practically impossible since you have to deal with his head of security Crouch - Junior, but nobody knows what happened to senior - and his secretary, Snape. 

Ron grimaced. He's had some unfortunate interactions with _Snape. _

"Remember - don't touch anything," Arthur said. It was a pretty good rule, frankly; his dad's lab was a bit of a nightmare to be in if you didn't know it well. Stuff on every surface, things and fluids and components that are currently very dangerous. They're not supposed to _stay _that way, everything his dad invents is good for people - but Riddle always finds a way. 

Debts. They're hard to pay. 

"Right," Ron agreed, sat on a stool, hands in his lap very _carefully _far away from any of the workbenches. 

His bag was on the floor. Ron hoped nothing fell in. 

* * *

Of course, his day got worse very quickly and very _awfully. _

After his Dad's day ended, around seven - Ron hates his dad's hours because they _totally _break some sort of rule, but once again, _Riddle - _they went home. Ron dropped his bag in the hallway and kicked off his shoes, then went into the kitchen.

He went for a drink, but the orange juice was empty, he searched for food - but the ham was just out of date, the bread was gone with an apology note for spilling the milk all over it in Ginny's messy handwriting, and the butter dish was empty.

"Great." Ron sighed, rubbed at his forehead. "Just great."

Ron grabbed a biscuit from the cupboard and munched on it as he went upstairs, having found no leftovers in the fridge. Mum must be busy, otherwise, she'd have put something there. Anyway, Ron went upstairs, went into the bathroom. Cleaned his teeth, washed, yadda yadda - then went up to the top floor, pulled down the ladder and clambered into the attic. Bill and Charlie are long gone, but they'd already had the bedrooms set up by this point - they had the one on the top floor, so that was now a guest room. Fred and George shared, across from Percy, and Ginny had the little box room next to their parents' one, closest to the bathroom.

So Ron got stuck with the attic. Which is fine, you know, attic rooms are pretty cool, but it does mean he has to make sure the twins haven't pranked the trapdoor when he goes to go in there, and when he goes to leave in the morning.

Bastards.

Thankfully, nothing was up with it this time, no water bucket set up to drench him when he pulled the door down, no rubber 'insert animal here' to cascade down on him, no loud sound to start blaring loud enough to disturb anyone in the house - mum was out, Ginny was... somewhere, Percy was studying and the twins were... worryingly quiet, if they were in, and his dad had gone upstairs and crashed the second they got home - so, Ron went up the ladder-stairs.

Complacent, he'd think, later on.

Ron got ready for bed, dropped his bag in the corner of the room, grabbed the light switch and pulled it. The room darkened instantly, and though it wasn't really late, Ron was just _tired. _He'd had a pretty shitty day.

So Ron dropped into bed. He stared at the ceiling, in the dark, for long enough that the orange of the horizon and the light of the moon outside brightened his room considerably - enough to see the outline of his wardrobe, enough to see his desk and the big details if not the small ones. His room was clean enough, mostly because creepy crawlies like attics and Ron does not like _them, _so - he made sure to keep the things away by keeping it clean _enough, _if not particularly tidy.

Something was crawling on his arm. Ron yelped, instinctively slapped the area with his free hand, and the sting of pain wasn't just from his palm. Ron scrambled to stand, nearly tripped over his feet as he went to pull the light on.

Ron sucked in a very terrified breath at the sight of the large black, red, and orange - tarantula? on his bed.

Ron looked at his arm and saw an angry red bite. He looked back up, and the thing had moved. Ron whimpered. How the fuck did that get in here?

Ron scarpered down the ladder, then down the stairs. He found the first aid kit and quickly tended to the bite, mind mostly blank with panic. Was it poisonous? Was he going to die? He's fifteen, he doesn't wanna _die. _

After possibly excessively bandaging his arm up, Ron leaned on the sink. He felt - dizzy, and tired, and - and he'd been fucking _vulnerable, _hadn't he? What if it had bitten him somewhere more dangerous, what if it had attacked his face, what if -

Ron fucking hated _spiders. _He went downstairs, to the living room, padded on old, worn carpet carefully quietly. He sat on the couch and stared blankly at the black screen of their old TV.

The twins' friend Lee breeds tarantulas, right?

* * *

"What _were _you _thinking!" _Molly shrieked, rounding on the twins. "A venomous tarantula! In your brother's bed!"

"What _are _you on about, woman?" George asked.

"Yeah, mum, we've never done anything like that," Fred said, less convincingly.

"You have very _well_ done it before, young man!_" _She glared at both of them.

"He deserved it then!" Fred argued, "It wasn't cheap and he broke it!"

Ron sank down into the couch cushions.

"And he was _five._" She glared at them harder. "I thought you'd learned your lesson that what you do has _consequences _when you gave your own brother _arachnophobia, _but now you stooped so low as to _do the same thing again! _I have half a mind to - you know, actually, I have a _full _mind to tell Lee what you've been using his friendship for!"

"Hey!" George said, angrily. "We'd never-"

"It wasn't his, mum," Fred said, tiredly, angrily. "Don't bring Lee into this."

"_Then you used a spider you didn't know the level of danger of, in order to scare your brother?" _Molly demanded.

Fred winced.

"Where did you get it? If not from Lee?" Molly asked, after a pause.

"Just, around," Fred said. "I found it in Dad's car. Okay?"

"_No!" _Molly shrieked. "It is _not _okay! You know your father's workplace can be _dangerous, _they're experimental _labs! _What kind of spider did you even think it was?"

"Just a tarantula, mum," Fred said. "Nothing _dangerous."_

"You are _seventeen years old, _young man, you should know better by now!" Molly huffed, folding her arms. "You're lucky Ron's alright. That could've killed him, you know."

Fred winced again.

"You'll be helping me with my business for three months." Molly decided. "And doing all of Ron's chores. _And _watching anti-bullying PSAs, at least two per week."

"Mum!" George exclaimed.

"Not you, you didn't do anything this time." Molly frowned at them both. "Part of the punishment is not being around each other enough to scheme for a while."

George glowered at her. Fred winced again.

Ron sank lower down into the couch. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd sink so far he'd cease to exist. 

* * *

The next day, Ron took off the excessive bandaging to check the bite. It wasn't there, which - probably meant it wasn't nearly as bad as they'd been worried it was.

Ron shrugged, got in the shower, and put it out of his mind. 

* * *

Ron woke up in the middle of the night, feeling winded and confused, flat on his back on his bed. Looking up, he saw cobwebs on the ceiling.

Shivering, Ron cleared them off and went back to sleep. 

* * *

Two days later, Ron was sitting at the table. They'd finally gotten enough time at the same time to eat tea together as a family, so they were - whether this was ever a good idea was still up for debate. Ginny was hurrying, having got a lot of homework to do for maths and chemistry and English and - look, year nine is a doozy. All fourteen subjects, it's a mess. Anyway, she wasn't up for conversation, as a result. Fred was sulking in his own way - his jokes at Percy's expense were meaner than usual, though Percy was ignoring him to the point of pretending he didn't have mash potato in his hair (that had caused Molly to whack Fred lightly with the wooden spoon in reprimand). George was glaring at Molly out of - twin solidarity, maybe. And Dad was at work, still.

Ron clenched his hand tighter around his knife as he cut into the roast beef. At least it's not corned beef. That's something.

"So," Ginny said, quietly, from her place to Ron's left. "Heard the twins got you good."

Ron grunted.

"Hey, I'm not mocking you," She said, "Today, anyway. That was a low blow, a tarantula. Creeping around in your bed..." She grimaced. "Can't have been pleasant."

Ron took a bite of the beef as an excuse not to answer. Ginny huffed and refilled their glasses with the orange juice. "Suit yourself." She said. "Be a grump, see if I care."

Ron rolled his eyes, reached for the orange juice, picked it up.

"Tell Harry about it yet?" She said. "Knows his spiders, doesn't he? Could tell you how close you were to - kicking the bucket."

Ron clenched his hand tighter around the class, knuckles white. There was a very loud _crack, _and he jolted - but nobody else on the table seemed to notice. Or - it wasn't a very loud crack, exactly. He just - it felt like it sounded very loud, like, his attention was -

"You alright?" Ginny asked.

"Fine," Ron said.

"Weirdo," Ginny said, elbowed him lightly. "You sure?"

Ron clenched his hand around the glass tighter if that were possible. He heard a crack again, and this time Ginny glanced at the glass he was holding.

"Hey," She said. "Don't take it out on the glass, bro. Just -"

"I'm fine," Ron repeated and set the glass down, what felt like gently, but there was a loud thud - and it shattered on the table.

"Uh," Ron said.

"_Ronald," _Molly snapped and then sighed tiredly. "Just - clean it up."

"Oh, so he gets let off lightly, does he?" Fred demanded.

"George -" Molly said, and Fred stood up and stormed off.

"And you call yourself our mother," George said, dryly. "_I'm _George, mum."

"I - I know," She stood, then placed a hand on her forehead, steadied herself on the chair. She huffed out a laugh. "Good lord." She shook her head as if to clear it. "Just clean up the table," She said, dismissively. "I'll - I'll talk to Fred." She followed Fred out of the room.

"Can't anyone tell how tired she is?" Percy demanded, rounding on the remaining siblings. "We shouldn't be giving her so much _stress _on top of everything else!"

"Like you're helping!" George said, loudly. "Can't even land a job, can you?"

"I'm _trying," _Percy said, through gritted teeth, "To finish my education! It's all well and good being _high school dropouts, George, _but _some of us _want a _well-paying job! _Some of us aren't bloody geniuses who can get away with coasting by in life! I'm studying to get better qualifications so they won't just take one look at me and think I'm not worth the trouble training me up to standard. You need a degree to get anywhere these days. You need extracurriculars. You need a good network. None of which you understand, because you don't have to bother with the normal workforce! You just peddle your wares online, and you'll be gone with your _money _before we can blink, so I'm _sorry _if I'm _trying _to help my fucking _family, _instead of tormenting them for the remaining time that I can be here!"

Percy breathed very heavily, then took off his glasses and furiously cleaned the lenses. "And it's much easier," He said, bitingly, "For people to accept those that _don't _put on their CV, 'oh, by the way, I can barely see. On top of not having yet finished university, because I need this job to _pay _for it.'"

"We get funding for that," George said.

"Yes," Percy replaced his glasses on his nose. "Because people look so very _well _at those with benefits." Percy's lips were thin and furious, his eyes hard.

"We're not just - going to _leave," _George said.

"Why not?" Percy said. "It'd be the smart thing. Start up your shop somewhere in London, I know you and Fred have already scouted out a few buildings to rent out. You'd get good customers, and hey, might as well live above the shop while you're at it. And, make no mistake, I'd like you too - much less chance of you blowing us all up with you thanks to your _total lack _of experiment safety precautions. And - well, once you're living there, us nowhere in sight, maybe you'd forget, like Bill, like Charlie, how difficult we have it _here. _'Come visit!' You'd say, forgetting the expense. It's happened twice - I have no disillusions it won't happen with you two as well."

"And what about you?" George asked.

"Obviously I can't live here forever," Percy said, pragmatically. "I'll move out for university, once I can afford it, and I'll likely stay moved out after that. It's just how life works. But I _won't _forget to visit. I won't forget how hard mum works. I won't forget how much - _bullshit _Dad is in. I _won't _forget how people look down on us, and I _won't _forget to send home a check on the regular, even if mum and dad don't want it, because I _know _how much they need it. _I won't forget."_

Percy looks at George, disparagingly. "And," He adds. "I'll do it all without hurting the people I care about."

With that, he leaves the room.

"We wouldn't," George said. He looks at them both, at Ron and Ginny. "You know that, right?"

"I haven't seen Bill in a long time," Ginny said. "Can never afford to come for Christmas. Egypt is very far away, and archaeology isn't gonna make that money up unless you discover something _big_. And Charlie - he lives in _Romania,_ most of the time, when he's not busy in Scottland, doing something and pretending he's _not_ for whatever _fucking_ reason_. _We care about each other, obviously, but there's a real obvious pattern of people _leaving._" She stared, hard, at George. "You can leave," She said. "Drop out of school like you're planning. Start up your shop. Make stacks, whatever. Just don't _leave. _Please."

Ron quietly left the room, shards of the broken glass on his plate, before they could bring him into this, too.

* * *

Ron woke up, in the middle of the night, but this time he didn't feel winded, and the ceiling seemed very very close to his face.

Ron yelped and fell onto his bed. He stared up at where he'd been just moments before long enough to fall asleep again, and assumed it had been a dream come morning. 

* * *

His week of suspension over, Ron's mum drove him back to St. Werstan's - a shortening of the full name of the boarding school, which Ron doesn't actually know - on Monday.

"You behave now." She held lightly onto his arm as he passed her window, looking at him imploringly. "I don't want to hear anything about a fight again, you understand?"

"Yeah," Ron said, knowing full well she'd be horribly disappointed. "I understand."

It was seven in the morning. Molly yawned lightly, behind her hand, having removed it from his arm. "You have a good day now," She said, then smiled at him. "We'll see you on your next holiday."

"Come on," Ginny said, dropping off the short wall where she'd been sitting, after having gotten out of the car. "We'll be late."

Ginny didn't stay in the dorms as much as Ron did. Being year nine, she was allowed to - Ron, being year ten, was not.

"Come _on," _Ginny repeated, grabbed his arm, and dragged him towards the front gate. 

* * *

Ron hissed and winced, slamming a hand to his ear as their teacher blew her whistle, directing all the students to line up for team picking.

"Malfoy," Miss Hooch jerked her head to her left. "Captain one."

Malfoy smugly strutted over to his spot, and smarmily smirked at his sycophants - 'friends'. Git.

"Zabini," Hooch jerked her head to the right. "Captain two."

Zabini threw a lazy smirk at Malfoy and went to where he was supposed to stand, slouching 'cooly', according to the giggling girls on Ron's left, and some mildly envious mutterings he could hear to his right.

Zabini was a classist, sexist dick; Malfoy was a classist, racist dick. Neither of them are good people at all, even _remotely... _but they're also rich, and some idiots can look past the worst sort of flaws for a bit of that _cash. _

Ron's going to be picked last, probably. Well. That's if one of them actually decides to pick Neville, and Ron thinks they're enough a pair of dicks to avoid that at all costs, even if it means showing any kind of interest in having Ron on their team.

Ron would refuse, if he could, by the way. That thought makes him vomit as well; the hatred is easily mutual.

The other students are picked, one by one, until it's Ron and Neville left. "Weasley," Zabini drawled, tone tinged with annoyance. Neville looked conflictedly unhappy - he's going to have to be on Malfoy's team - Ron grimaced, clapped him on the shoulder, then walked over to his 'team.'

"Goalie," Zabini designated him, dismissively.

Zabini doled out the other roles, and then they got into position, meaning, they all started milling about the pitch in the general area. Except for Dean. Dean got into the correct position, near the goal where Ron was situated, Seamus on his left - Dean on the right. Ron likes football, he does, in fact, he's on the team, but that doesn't stop them from picking him second-to-last every time during games. Hooch doesn't really notice or care about the mutual hatred her students display, and she always ends up picking shitty captains. If they step one toe out of line she'd be perfectly happy to expel the person who does, but since she's got no actual power and very little authority, her classes are always a mess. Ron's gotten into more than one bout during them. Rarely does a games or p.e. lesson end without some form of violence and a black eye.

He'll admit it's useful to let off steam. Mostly it just makes him angrier than he was before, that Malfoy and his cronies can get away with this shit.

The game starts, and it's a trainwreck. Hooch takes Neville off the field to go to first aid when he's run over - literally - by Crabbe, who appears to think they're playing rugby. There's yelling and screaming and fighting, and occasionally the ball rolls or flies in Ron's general direction, but mostly he and Dean and Seamus are just standing around - the main scuffle is taking place in the middle of the pitch. They're not stupid enough to get any closer.

"Yo, Weasley, want a beer when we get back to the dorm?" Seamus asked. "This bullshit makes a guy need one, I wager." He added, grinning, as the ball flies over his shoulder, his head, and soars over Dean only to smack into the fence around the pitch.

Ron watches Crabbe curb stomp Goyle - "You're on the same team, retards!" Pansy screams - and nods, decisively. "Yeah," He said. "That'd be a good one, mate."

"Nice," Dean said.

"Watch out," Ron said, and Dean, knowing this school, ducked, letting Boot get thrown over him - Ron grabbed him before he could clothesline on the goal post, shoving him back so he'd only topple painfully on the floor.

"Ough," He groaned, rolled into the foetal position.

"Ron!" Seamus yelled, and Ron - found himself holding the ball, having spun around and caught it, one fucking millimetre from his nose.

"Nice one!" Dean grinned.

"Shit," Ron said and dodged Bullstrode's tackle. He kicked the ball, and it went soaring - father than he'd kicked anything before - then without conscious effort, dodged Bullstrode's heavy left hook and found himself standing a few steps away, her flat on her face on the astroturf.

"When'd you learn how to do that?" Seamus yelled, grinning. "_Two _beers for you, mate!"

Bullstrode groaned, pulled herself up and glared, worryingly, directly at him. She wiped under her nose, staining the side of her palm with blood, then cracked the broken - bone? - back into place.

"Ouch," Dean said. He stepped back at her glare.

"You." She growled, her unwavering, unnerving attention back on Ron. "Weasley. Behind the cafeteria, tomorrow. 12. Don't be fucking late." And with that, she stormed off.

"_Three _beers. No, five." Seamus said, decidedly, throwing an arm around Ron's shoulder. "And maybe pray for your life."

Ron grimaced. Tomorrow would not be a good day - and he's only been back for _one. _Gah. Ron always forgets how shit it is here, whenever he gets to leave.

Dean shrugs at him, like, 'what can you do?' He's not wrong, really. It's not like Ron's anywhere near as strong as Bullstrode - her dad's _The Strongman_. People just pretend they don't have a villain's daughter around because she's fucking terrifying, but oh well.

Not much he could do, in the end, other than do as she demanded. "Let's get outta here," Seamus said. "Before someone _else_ enforces a death match."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this became more painful more quickly than i expected


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight behind the cafeteria reveals a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some stuff yo

Ron's uncle, Billius Weasley, was a part-time chess champion, part-time boxer, full time pub owner. He worked pretty damn close to where Ron went to school, so it was pretty easy to sneak out that night, after curfew, and walk the few streets to his Uncle's place. 

Ron entered the building, walked through the maze of tables, past the bar, and into the back rooms. He took out his key and entered the staff hall, through the door in the little nook, at the back right corner. Up the stairs was his Uncle's home, across the way was the storeroom, the left was the kitchen, and the right was the staff toilets. Ron went up, knocked on the door, and waited.

It didn't take long for the man to open the door. He was a decade older than Ron's dad, but looked a decade younger - the man lived a very... lively lifestyle, which Molly tutted at rather often. He'd taught Ron chess, and the reason Ron had never broken his fingers trying to punch Malfoy in the nose was because Billius had told him how to avoid it.

Out of his siblings, Billius had no qualms saying that Ron was his favourite.

Billius clapped Ron on the shoulder and shoved him lightly inside the apartment. "Been a while, young man," He said, tone pleased. "St. Martyr's pilling the work on?"

"A bit," Ron said. He went over to the couch, a comfortable old thing that would've looked new in the 70s, and sank down onto it. "I got suspended," Ron admitted, which Billius took in his usual way - a hearty clap on the back as he went to go grab himself a beer, and a grin plastered on his face. "Can't say I'm surprised," Billius said. "What with the lot you've been stuck with. Werstan's wasn't so bad when I was a lad, but it's gotten worse in the years since."

"You can say that," Ron said, with feeling. Billius tossed him a bottle of water, then sank down into his recliner. "So, uh," Ron started, "I have a bit of a problem," He hesitated, frowned at his drink. Stalling, Ron unscrewed the lid, took a long gulp. 

"Got'a be a bit more specific than that, lad," Billius encouraged.

"Bullstrode's _requested _I have a fight with her behind the cafeteria at midday tomorrow," Ron said, grimacing.

"That's William's kid, innit," Billius said, frowning at his beer. He sighed, annoyed. "Rat bastard."

Billius is old enough that he went to Werstan's with The Strongman, back when it was a 'mutant education institute'. There's fewer of those now. Turns out, putting them all in the one well-known place made it a pretty easy target for - well, lots of people. And having it in the middle of London never boded well for the collateral damage...

Hence Dumbledore's one, up in the ass-end of nowhere, Scottland, being one of the last ones left. Nobody even knows the exact location, which is safest for everyone involved, really. Ron's seen the debates on TV, 'cause his Mum's real invested, given what happened to her brothers and all. It's... not pretty. Molly's got a little mutation, not a big useful one like her brothers - she can just... _know _when her family are in danger, like an itch under her skin. It's - not particularly useful, since it doesn't tell her anything else.

On the other hand, Arthur's the only one out of his family that doesn't have a mutation of some kind. Billius is a bit stronger than most, and a quicker thinker than many - Ron could go on; there's a lot of Weasleys. Suffice to say, Ron's own siblings have some; Bill's got a weird homing thing for dangerous treasure. Charlie's got tough skin. Fred and George are lucky as all get out. Percy... well. Ron and Ginny might not have a mutation, but at least they didn't get one like Percy's.

His mutation is a real sticking point; he just... can't see, unless he's wearing his glasses. That's it. And since you have to declare your mutations, if you have them, and fill out extra forms and all that shit... it's not pleasant.

So. Ron could be worse off. No mutation is better than - that.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "That's her."

"Damn," Billius pursed his lips. "Werstan's really has gone to the dogs, if they're letting that shit fly. Alright, kid." Billius put his drink on the coffee table. "Bring your drink."

Ron stood, and followed his uncle, bottled water in hand. They went downstairs and outside - the 'garden' was partitioned, between Billius' and the exterior seating for the pub.

"Alright," Billius said, "Wait there." Ron waited, as his uncle went into the shed and dragged out a punching bag, then retrieved some knuckle tape and a pair of boxing gloves.

"These should fit," He said, "I used them when I was your age."

Out of his siblings, Ron's looking to be the tallest - Bill's at six-two, charlie's at five-twelve, the twins are at five-ten, percy's at six-one, and Ginny, bless her, is at four-ten. She's still young, though, like Ron is, and they're definitely going to grow - Ginny'll probably hit five-one. Ron's projected for six-four, at minimum.

Ron took the boxing gloves, and strapped them on.

"We're going to do some exercises," Billius said, "And then I'm going to teach you some moves you can use on someone bigger and stronger than you."

Millicent's already six-five. She's _fifteen. _Broad-shouldered, like her dad, and a proper boxer. Ron's probably going to die, at the ripe old age of fifteen, but at least he'll die fighting.

* * *

Millicent cracked her knuckles when she saw him turn the corner, around the back of the building. The stench of the food bins was particularly pungent here, which was probably partly why she chose the location. A sufficiently bad enough smell can distract your oppenent pretty well, if they're squeamish. Good thing Ron's got his brothers, Charlie with his animals and Fred and George with their experiments, and also, his Dad's workplace, to counteract the intended push into nausea-territory.

"Boxing rules," She stated, simply, as she strode over to him, arm pulling back already, no countdown to the start, an immediate attempt to deck him out, get her opponent on the floor, fast and efficient. Ron ducked under, but she's quicker than she looks, and she probably expected it - her other hand reached past, snagged his wrist as he attempted to move past her. 

"Not so fast," She grunted, and yanked, his wrist screaming in her too-tight grip, tighter than she should really be able to do. Ron felt his bones grind as she pulled him, too hard, practically flung him by the arm at the brick wall of the cafeteria. Ron slammed into it, grunted as his head banged into the wall, and then felt himself _drop, _fast, to the ground, as her fist crashed into where his head had just been, cracking - something, he could hear cracking, and she made an angered sound as she tugged her arm free, but he'd moved, just enough, out of her reach.

She turned, shaking her hand out as she looked at him suspiciously. Bullstrode raised her hands, boxing technique ingrained in her fighting style as much as she is a brawler - and Ron waited. Millicent was good at this, she was, she'd been doing it for a long time - it happens, when you're larger and stronger than everyone your age **and** your dad is _The Strongman. _It was almost expected of her, Ron's pretty sure, to go into fighting. And nobody really expects her to not follow his footsteps exactly; she's not really a pleasant person, all things considered. Beating up people behind the school buildings isn't the past time of a future hero, frankly. 

Bullstrode lunges for him, again - right jab, left jab, and Ron finds himself dodging both, instinctive motion, body moving faster than his brain can keep up with - but he can't dodge forever, can't keep acting on the backfoot - on the fifth swing, his hand reaches up and catches her wrist, closes around it, and there's that grinding of bone again. Millicent's eyes widen, slightly, even as her brows furrow in confusion - and the distraction is enough to slam her into the wall. Ron backpedals, as bewildered as her, his expression a likely mirror of the one painted across her face.

Millicent's jaw tightens. There's damage in the wall, because of both of them - a Ron-shaped indent, thanks to the strength of her throw, a hole the size of Millicent's fist, and now, a very slight indent the size and shape of Bullstrode herself.

Huh.

"Not bad," She grunted, and then lunged, properly, a real rugby tackle, and Ron's head cracked against the concrete, his throat flexing painfully as the wind was knocked out of him. Millicent grabbed his wrists in one hand, and then raised her other, fist pulled back, ready to slam into his face - and then a complicated motion later, too fast for Ron to be capable of and a technique he hadn't known he knew - and Millicent was on her back, equally winded as Ron had been, blinking up at him in confusion.

Ron blinked, and stood, and backed off.

"You should have fucking punched me, _idiot_, you had the _advantage_," She snarled. "This is a _fight,_ Weasley, don't wimp out on me." Bullstrode swung, and Ron's hand caught her fist - his shoulder protested, solid reverb echoing through the bones in his arm - but the punch was stopped in it's tracks, and Millicent grit her teeth at the shockwave that rattled her own bones.

"Sorry," Ron said. Bullstrode snarled again. She swung with her other fist, and clocked him in the jaw, Ron's newfound instincts not kicking in in time to save him from the pain that blossomed, sharp and stinging, as his head snapped to the side with the momentum.

Ouch.

Ron's hand moved of its own volition, reached up and out and closed around the other teen's neck, and - and _lifted her up, _all six-foot-five-inches-and-growing, double-his-weight-in-muscle of her, and before he knew it, she was hitting the wall on the opposite side, a loud _thud_ and _**crack**, _as she dented a crater into the old brown-red brick.

Millicent grunted. She dropped to the floor, having hit the wall a couple of inches up from the ground, and then cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders.

"_There _we go," Bullstrode said.

Ron didn't know he could do that. He was - Ron didn't have any powers. He didn't. Mutants weren't rare, half of his brothers were ones, and so was his mother, and Harry had a couple - hell, Millicent had her whole strength thing going on that she inherited from her dad.

But _Ron?_

Ron didn't have anything.

Not like that.

Not anything that would let him throw a large, six-foot-five, professional heavyweight boxer type girl twice his size in sheer muscle mass up against a wall from the other side of the alley. Not anything like _that. _

That's the kind of power a vigilante has. Or even a _Hero. _

Or a Villain, too. Look at The Strongman.

"I didn't know I could do that," Ron found himself saying. He really needed to get a lid on that whole 'doing things without realising he was doing them' thing.

Millicent narrowed her eyes at him. She huffed. "Powers can come in late," Bullstrode said. "Shut up and fight me."

That was true. His mum's didn't manifest until her brothers - well. There was a reason why her's was more of a curse than anything else.

Millicent lunged, and Ron dodged, and he felt like it took hours, but it probably only took minutes, but eventually, Millicent grew tired of the whole thing. Which was good, because Ron was getting tired of dodging and being thrown into walls.

Millicent slammed her hand into the palm of the other one threateningly. "Next week," She challenged. "Same time." And then she was gone, long, strong legs taking her around the corner faster than Ron could figure out how to respond.

"Great," Ron said, a minute later. _Just great. _Bloody hell.

* * *

"Mum's gonna call in during supper," Ginny said.

Shit.

"Great," Ron groaned, muffled. Ginny was sat on the sofa, curled up in the corner. Ron was sprawled out along the rest of it, head buried in the cushions, an ice pack sitting comfortably against his jaw. 

Ginny patted his leg. 

"Howler or nah?" Seamus asked. There was a six-pack of beer on the table, which he'd brought. Dean was crouched next to the fire place, trying to light the damned thing. It was getting close to winter; there was a chill in the air. 

"Howler," Ginny sighed. "I tried to convince her to just call the dorms, but she was upset enough to not listen."

_Great._ There's some more fodder for Malfoy's lot.

"God, I wish they'd ban those," Seamus said. "Humiliation at nine in the morning is not the way I want to spend my Sunday."

"That's just your mum," Dean said. "And anyway, she doesn't do it _that _often."

Ron's friends know Ron's mum just from the sound of her shouting. Of course, they've met her before, but the first time they actually heard her talk was a howler to the twins on the first Monday after school started, in year seven, and that sets a certain tone. 

A howler, by the way, is St. Werstan's lovely system of parental punishment for misbehaviour in school that doesn't require sending the students home. It's a public, on-speaker phone call that can happen during meal times, wherein the parents can yell down the receiver at you for a solid half-hour. It's embarrassing for anyone who isn't Fred or George; they seem to take them as a point of pride. 

"Me mam does it as often as she can get away with, Thomas," Seamus said, disparagingly. "Butterbeer?" 

Dean takes the can Seamus offers. 

"I wonder why," Dean said, dryly. He took a sip of the beer.

Technically, it's not illegal. Teens can drink at home from the age of fourteen, and they're all above that, here, though Ginny's _only_ _just_ on that front. Since this is a boarding school, it is, technically, their home. Loopholes.

(Butterbeer, by the way, is Seamus' own concoction. He wants to go into that industry, and his dad is a brewer, so it'll be Seamus' company once he's of-age. For now, he just comes up with the ideas, and gets a cut of the profits. Mad, the lot of them; that is to say, the Finnegans, _and_ Seamus' concoctions.)

Seamus shrugged.

"Just take the call as soon as they say it's for you," Ginny said. "And you know the technique-"

"Hold the phone by the speaker to muffle the sound," Ron grunted into his pillow. "I've gotten more than you, you know."

"I know," Ginny grinned. "I pride myself on it."

Ginny got away with a lot more than Ron and their brothers did. Even Percy had gotten a few - not enough to stop him being a Prefect well on track for getting Head Boy in his last year, but _enough. _You can't be a Weasley without at least one howler, that's just how it works. Mum gets antsy pretty easy - it's the stress. Ron doesn't fault her for it. 

(The only time the twins had looked mollified - ha - was when Dad was the one who sent the howler, though. What they'd done had been dangerous, and they hadn't done that again.)

"Anyway," Ginny said, "She doesn't know the details, since she didn't ask about them. But she does know that Bullstrode challenged you to a fight and you accepted it - so she isn't happy. Doesn't understand you couldn't decline, but then she's never gotten that part."

No, she hadn't. 

"Why'd you even tell her that much?" Ron complained, anyway.

"'Cause she sensed you were in danger, dipshit," Ginny said, shoving his leg in vague annoyance. "God. She was _worried, _I had to tell her something."

Right. Part of the reason his mum hated him getting into as many fights as he does (that he can't not get into, by the way) is because she can sense he's in them; her danger-radar mutation goes all haywire. That's - that's part and parcel of the 'stress' he mentioned earlier. 

Mum does a lot. Dad doesn't get paid as much as he should, and so Mum does - catering and babysitting and she's a seamstress and she works at a bakery and the local Gregg's and she advocates for mutant rights so her family can be safe and she looks after five kids and worries about eight (one of which she'll never know whether he's in danger or not, because Harry's not her's) and she can never tell if Arthur is in any danger or not since he's not family by blood but rather her husband by marriage, which makes her fret, because he's the one who's in the most danger at all times, given who he works for, and -

Well. Molly Weasley lives a stressful life, to say the least. Ron, like he said, doesn't fault her for _anything_. 

(All of that is why Percy worries so much. It's also why he looks so guilty whenever she calls in a howler for him.)

(Also - 'radar' is kind of a misnomer, since she can't tell where anyone is, when they're in danger. All she knows is that there's danger; not what it is, where it is, or anything useful - just that one of her relatives is in danger. The only somewhat useful thing is that, after so long of having it, and of training herself to, she can recognise which of her relatives is the one that's in danger.)

"Okay, yeah," Ron said. 

Ginny sighed, softly. "Couple hours yet, anyway," She said. "You can figure out what to say."

Ron groaned into the pillow, again. That was always the worst part.

* * *

The bell rings for supper, and Ron groans, before forcing himself upright. He feels like one big, walking bruise, because he probably was, if he sucked up the courage to look under his shirt. There was a purpling thing around his wrists, because Bullstrode had used them a lot to throw him against walls and to stop his own attempts at punching her, and there's the bruise on his jaw from when she'd socked him right good on it, and there's the fact that he'd gotten thrown against brick walls and slammed into the concrete floor that means he's got aches all over. He's just glad that cracking his head against the floor hadn't given him anything worse than some mild soreness on the back of his scalp. 

Ron pocked at his jaw, wincingly, as he walked down the corridor towards the food hall, Dean and Seamus ambling along beside him. Neville was skipping to spend time in the greenhouses, and Ron really wished he could skip, too, but the howler put a stop to that. 

Ron flicked his eyes over the tables; Bullstrode was nowhere to be found, thank the lord, but Malfoy and his cronies were sat at their usual spot. Ron grimaced and walked over to the hot food servers, asked for the ambiguously named 'chicken curry'. Dean got 'pasta in tomato sauce' (with garlic bread, since they had that today) and Seamus got tuna pasta from the nearby deli server. 

Standard stuff.

Ron walked over to the empty table nearest The Phone, since he didn't feel like walking across the whole room with everyone's eyes on him when mum called. Dean and Seamus followed, and Seamus dropped three Butterbeers on the table from his bag, as shameless as ever. It's barely even alcoholic, not even one-percent, whereas something like Becks is four, but you know. Someone _could _get drunk off it - in fact, Ron's pretty sure one of the kitchen staff (known as Winky, because she has a twitch in her right eye that makes her wink a lot - it's not a very nice nickname, but the students here aren't very nice), who's short and skinny and kind of weirdly self-flagellating, gets drunk on it quite often. 

Ron ate his curry, and waits. 

The Phone starts ringing halfway through supper, half-an-hour later, and Ron sighed, before he stood. There was only one howler allowed during each mealtime session, thankfully, so Ron would be the only person to receive one tonight. 

Ron wandered over to The Phone, picked it up, and ignored the barely-whispered gossiping. Everyone could at the very least see the big, purple splotch on his jaw, and Ron always took the blazer off and rolled up his sleeves during mealtimes, because he could never be bothered to take his uniform down to the laundry until he _had _to do it (since he only had two of everything, except the blazer since those were fucking seventy quid, he tried to make it all last as long as possible), and to be honest the sleeves weren't long enough anyway (this was Charlie's old shirt, and he was a lot more stout than Ron - the shirt was baggy, but the sleeves were short on his arms), and - so, yeah, everyone could also see the purple mess of his wrists. 

_Great. _Perfect. Fucking spiffing. 

"_Another fight!" _Mum started the howler with. "_So soon after the last one!"_

This one wouldn't net him a suspension - Bullstrode started every fight, and everyone knew it, including the staff, but they were all too scared of her _daddy _to do anything about it, so these sorts of things never went anywhere. That's what having a villain for a parent means, Ron supposes. Amusingly, ironically, it's a 'get out of jail free' card.

Ron waited.

"_I swear, I have half a mind -" _Molly fumed for a moment. "_You need to take more care, Ronald. You can't keep doing this."_

Ron winced. 

_"If you step another toe out of line," _Mum warned, "**_I _**_will bring you **straight home, **do you understand?_"

Oh no. The last time she'd said that - year eight, Ron had gotten into one too many fights with Malfoy that week - he hadn't heard the end of it for the whole _year. _

And she'd meant it, too. There was this whole mess, at the end of the year - some asshole targeted Ginny for something much worse than a mean-spirited prank and Ron hadn't thought twice about punching him in the face and kicking him in the dick, but he was old money and Ron was not, and - well. Nepotism was probably the only reason Ron wasn't expelled. The Prewetts may not be well-liked, by the old crowd, but they _are _old crowd, so... Ron and his siblings aren't ever going to be expelled, unless they do something _incredibly bad, _like murder or something. 

... Which was what the asshole targeting Ginny was trying to get her to do. Some people's mutations are - scarier, than others. 

Ron is... still mad at himself for not realising sooner. That guy was a fucking _predator, _using an eleven-year-old girl to try and kill people he didn't like (non-mutants - using a _non-mutant _to kill other _non-mutants _was a fucking shitty thing to do) was just - eugh. Manipulating her through 'friendship' and 'sympathy' and his bastard mutation (mind control) was also... _eugh. _

Luckily, Ginny's a very strong girl, and was even then. She resisted enough of the control not to kill anyone, but... 

Well. Therapy was expensive. 

Ron sighed. 

"_Don't sigh at me!" _Mum admonished. Ron winced. "_This is a very serious matter, Ronald Weasley. You could have been expelled!"_

Well, they both know that's not true. 

"_You could have been seriously injured!" _She continued, which was closer to something that could have happened, though to be fair, Bullstrode usually avoided breaking bones. She seemed to know exactly what her opponent could take, and... never really seemed to go beyond that barrier, unless she was _really angry. _There's a reason she's not in Malfoy's group, and it's two broken legs and a concussion. Goyle still holds a grudge... as much as someone so stupid can do that, anyway. 

"I know, mum," Ron said, quietly, enough so that only she could hear. Thankfully, the not-so-whispered gossiping was more than enough to drown him out. 

Molly sighed, static blowing over the receiver. "I just need you to be more careful, Ronnie," She said, softer. "We can't afford to... attract her father's attention."

That much was true. 

"I know," Ron repeated. "I'm being as careful as I can, but... she lives here too, mum. Not much I can avoid - Bullstrode's easy to anger, even when you didn't _do _anything."

Molly sighed, again. "She would be," There was a pause. "Her father was never the easy-going type."

Ron snorted. 

"Just..." Mum sighed. "Promise me, Ron - just try and avoid fighting anyone, as much as you can, please? I only want you to be safe, and if St. Werstan's isn't safe -"

"It's fine, mum," Ron said, because he knew she was about to suggest transferring schools, again. Ron couldn't just leave Ginny here alone. And he had friends, too, Dean and Seamus and Neville, and Ron doesn't want to have to drop all contact with them, either, which would happen, because he's not calling The Phone just to have a chat with his mates, and letters would just feel weird. It works, sending them to Harry, because he lives up in the ass-end of Scotland most of the year, with no phones around anywhere, but for these guys? forget it.

"It's not," Molly said. "You're in danger nearly every week, Ron. I really do think that... it might be best if -"

"Mum," Ron said. "Drop it. I'm not moving schools."

"There's a school near here," Molly said. "It's a good school. Good kids, low rates of bullying and violence, high teaching standard, mental health advocacy, good programs for mutants and non-mutants alike, lots of different subjects and extra-curriculars - I was thinking maybe, for sixth form, instead of staying at St. Werstan's, you could go there. As a compromise. And I've wanted to move Ginny ever since-"

Right. Of course. 

"Yeah," Ron said. "I'll think about it."

"Great," Molly said. "Thank you. Just - I just think, after O-Levels, it might be best. And," She hesitated, "And I think - if you talked to her about it - I think Ginny might finally say yes."

"What school is it?"

"It's a public school," She said, "Cheaper than St. Werstan's should be," And she said that because she knew Ron would worry about it, he was sure, "And - the headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, she's a lovely woman. Fair. I've spoken to a few of the faculty, and they... seem better than the ones at Werstan's. And the students - they have this system to show people around - and they were lovely, the ones that showed me around. It's not a boarding school, but a bus pass isn't too expensive, and I think the experience would be good for you and Ginny and..."

"You've thought a lot about this," Ron said. 

"Yes," Mum said. "I suppose I have."

It had taken a lot, from Ginny and Ron, to convince Mum to not immediately transfer them after Ginny's first year. Ron should have figured she hadn't dropped it, especially since she'd never stopped bringing it up.

But Ron... feels like maybe it makes sense. Finish his O Levels here, go to another school for A Levels. And maybe a change of scenery would do them some good - do Ginny some good. Therapy is expensive, and - and one of the first things mum mentioned was _mental health, _so they probably had actual help on that front there. 

There's a whole year. It's October. A lot can change in that time. 

"I'm not saying yes," Ron said. 

"I know," Mum said, fondly. "Just talk to your sister about it, if nothing else?"

"Alright," Ron said. "I will."

* * *

That night, Ron woke up with his face pressed painfully against the ceiling. He yelped, fell, and landed with an _oof _onto the mattress, springs digging into his back.

Neville made a noise from his bed, rolled over, and didn't wake up. Ron let out the breath he'd been holding. 

Ron stared up at the ceiling, where his face had been. Once, a dream. Twice? A reoccurring dream. Three times, and he wasn't at home any more, and he'd thrown Millicent Bullstrode against a wall, and he'd smashed a glass on the table, and he wasn't sure this was a dream, anymore. 

Ron bit his lip. He stood up, quietly, stretched as far as he could reach, and placed his hand on the ceiling. He grimaced at the texture, and pulled it away, looked at his fingers as he brushed off the sticky film with his thumb. 

Cobwebs. 

* * *

Sunday morning, Ron woke up, as normal. He got dressed. His jeans were always a bit too short for his legs, but they were above his ankles, now, and he swore you weren't supposed to grow that fast. 

But Ron wasn't a mutant. And it wasn't that he would mind if he was, exactly, it was just a fact that he wasn't. He'd thought about it, about what Bullstrode had said; that these things can come in late, sometimes. But Ron _had _been tested, and he _hadn't _tested _positive, _and Ron was just... not a mutant. 

So what was this?

Ron walked into the library, a space he rarely bothered to use, but today was a different sort of day. He went to the computers, booted up windows ('95; they'd recently got a huge upgrade to the system) and waited. Ron logged on, and started searching. He could've sworn there were instances of mutants not being born with their powers, but he needed to check.

There. In the forties - _super soldier serum. Captain America. _Winter Soldier, Black Widow - that whole deal with the Soviets. Everything went quiet for a few decades, once they all disappeared, and it wasn't England's problem back then, anyway, so they hadn't reported on it much. Across the pond, all that shit had felt so very far away, so removed from people's lives, and so ridiculously comic-book than nobody really thought it was_ real._

Then Dumbledore and Grindlewald had their fight. That felt a lot less removed, since it happened in London, 1945. Dumbledore did activism after that - fifties were quiet. Then, sixties - Dumbledore's school. Some rumours of a secret team, but nothing ever came of that.

Ron sat back, and frowned. So it was something that could happen, but most of the time it seemed deliberate - genetic experimentation, gamma rays, et cetera. What Ron had experienced wasn't something that really _happened. _You didn't just wake up one day with superpowers. 

... But he hadn't, exactly, had he?

Ron looked at his arm, and frowned.

Where had Fred found that spider, again?

* * *

Fred frowned at him.

"That was ages ago," He said. "Why so curious, little brother?"

"Well," Ron said. "We have no idea what it was meant to do. It was a spider from _Riddle's company. _Experimental labs. Who knows what it's purpose was?"

"You want to find out it's purpose?"

"I don't want to find out something bad the hard way," Ron said. "Come on. You've done it before."

And they had. Breaking into dad's work and perusing the experiment database was something Fred and George did, occasionally. It wasn't a good idea, but it was all Ron had at the moment. Just to ask that, next time, if they could check Ron hadn't been hit with a long-term poison, or something. Ostensibly. Really, Ron wanted to see if it was something along the lines of that _super solider serum _shit. 

It wasn't plausible, but then, none of this was plausible. Ron just... had a feeling. 

"Fine," Fred said. "I'll save the data they have on spiders. You provide the floppy discs, though."

Ron grimaced. "Fine," Ron said. "When-"

"Next week," Fred said. "After that? February. Be quick about it, _Ronniekins_."

Ron scowled. Fred walked off.

_Fine. _Ron turned, and stalked in the direction of the Ravenclaw building. He needed to talk to Chang.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait, just figuring some things out about the plot.

**Author's Note:**

> edit: clarifications and proofreading.
> 
> edit: Thanks to Wish1802 for the titles for the fic and the series, bc i'm dumb and uncreative. <3


End file.
